Debut
by edka88
Summary: Christine wants to dance with her husband, but sadly that would mean he has to give up his seclusion.


Hello dear readers!

It's been so long since I've been here and believe me, I missed you a lot. So here's the story: some time ago I lost inspiration completely and I thought it would do me good to read a book about creative writing – it didn't. According to it almost everything I've written so far is… not good. At all. Then a few days ago I watched the movie again and now everything is all right.:) I decided it's better to write not so perfect stories than not writing at all because then I would go totally mad. I hope you like them, though.

Happy New Year to everyone!

* * *

><p>"But why not?" Christine asked her husband who was standing on front of his desk, flipping through some papers in his hand.<p>

He didn't turn as he answered. "There would be people. A lot of them."

"And none of them would recognize you," she continued, coming closer. "Everyone would be wearing a mask for the whole night."

"No."

Taking a deep breath Christine came closer and stopped beside Erik. "You could hold me for the whole night, keeping me close…" In her mind, she was already there. People were swirling around them, and finally she could prove them that her husband was not always hiding from them. Part of the cast began to believe she had no husband at all. "No one would doubt that you're a businessman."

He looked up at her and was silent for a long moment before speaking again. "No."

"So that is your last word on the matter?"

"I'm not going."

With a soft sigh of disappointment, Christine left the room. She's been begging for a dance for days now, ever since the traditional New Years Eve masquerade's invitations were sent out.

He was the most stubborn man in existence.

- o -

Two days later Christine was presented a small envelope by her husband. "Open it," he said, waiting for her to comply.

She smiled up at him and quickly unfolded the white paper: an ornate card slipped out of it with the order of the dances on the opera house's masquerade. She could barely suppress a very childlike squeal.

"I've already filled it in for you since you won't be dancing with anyone else," he said, watching how her lips were tugged in a bright smile.

"I don't want to dance with anyone else. I only have this one night; who knows how long would I have to beg for another one," she teased, giving him a brief kiss to the lips in gratitude. "What was that changed your mind?"

"I want to dance with you," he admitted and earned a brief kiss from his wife again.

"I can't wait for Sunday," she said, then squeezing his hand a little she left the room cheerfully. From the parlor Erik heard that she started to empty the wardrobe, obviously in the search of the matching gown she would be wearing, and soon her humming accompanied her excited quest.

Better if he himself found a fitting attire soon; Red Death wouldn't do twice, after all.

- o -

"You can't be serious," Christine greeted her husband when he appeared finally on the evening of the ball. From the beginning he refused to tell her how he'd be dressed for it but now she could see why he wouldn't let her know. First she thought he was wearing a dark suit but when he turned she realized it was a uniform, a gendarme's uniform in fact! Completed with the honors of a gendarme, the embroidered jacket, the fancy trousers – that looked _very_ appealing on him, she concluded; it was very much like his attire in Don Juan Triumphant. Her stomach gave a little, pleasant flutter.

"But I am," he said calmly, coming closer to her and examining her clothing. She said she was wearing enough costumes throughout the year to wear one on the ball and indeed, she had chosen the gown she only recently got from him, made from a light shade of pink-purple silk. It cost a small fortune but every franc was well worth it.

His eyes roamed over her back and waist: she wasn't wearing a corset. It was after the wedding that he had asked her not to and she agreed, though this would be the very first time she would appear without it in front of so many people. His hands slid from her shoulders down her back and she relaxed against his palms. He would be feeling this for the whole night – it was torturous.

"You look stunning," he told her softly.

"Thank you." Christine turned in front of him, taking in his apparel from head to toe. Unfortunately he wouldn't take well if she returned his compliment but he couldn't argue with an appreciative sweep of her palm on his chest. And he truly didn't. "It looks like as if it was real," she said, fingering one of the medals on his jacket.

"Because it is."

She straightened her posture. "How did you obtain it?"

"By card," he answered nonchalantly.

"That's not true," Christine retorted.

"It is."

The room was silent for a short moment, in which Christine raised her eyes to look into his.

"The owner is perfectly fine, I assure you," he said before she could raise any questions. Indeed, she didn't.

"You really don't care about propriety," she giggled, folding the tiny, silk mask into her similarly small bag, then hung the whole thing on her wrist.

"No, I don't," he agreed, donning the dark mask on his face, then he draped the coat on his shoulders before helping her into hers as well.

When they stepped out of the door he oddly found himself similarly excited as she had been for the past two days; he was to dance with his wife for the first time.

- o -

They entered the opera house through one of the side entrances and promptly left for Christine's dressing room to get rid of their heavy coats. Until Erik arranged the clothing on the hangers Christine reached into her little bag and fished the tiny mask she was to be wearing tonight and put it on, straightening it in front of the mirror.

It was rather uncomfortable, to say the truth; the edges were blocking part of her sight and the middle of it was pressing to the side of her nose, causing her to take unreasonably shallow breaths – she knew she was overreacting it. In fact, after a minute she couldn't even detect she was wearing anything on her face at all. But his was not just an accessory: his mask wasn't so light as hers, it couldn't be made of silk since the thin material would clung to every crevice on his face, making them as apparent as without any cover – _his_ must have been truly uncomfortable. There would be people outside of her room, if not staring but looking at him – but she got what she wanted.

Turning around Erik saw she had already readied herself for leaving to the hall yet she was standing still in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. Her hand lifted slowly to her mask, sweeping her fingers lightly along its edges.

"Christine, stop it." She turned around as if she had been caught. "I know that look. Stop it. You know pretty well there is no need for you to pity me."

Lowering her hand she turned away and walked to her vanity but her mind was wandering far away. She picked up the brush, twirling it between her slender fingers.

"Perhaps you've been right. We shouldn't have come," she confessed after a moment.

He came up behind her but only the heat from his body signed how close he had been to her, his touch was painfully missing from around her waist. "Why?" He asked.

"So many things have happened… It was not even a year ago and I wanted to dance and… laugh… as if I had the right." The brush clattered on the vanity and Christine turned around. "That's why you didn't want to come, isn't it?"

"Partially; yes." He reached for her hair, brushing back a curl behind her shoulder. "You shouldn't bear the same fate that I do."

"I thought this would be a happy occasion." She caught his hand and held it tight in her grasp.

"It will be," he promised determinedly. "For you. Don't even think about last year. You didn't have your imagined night even then."

"I'll have it tonight," she said, tentatively folding her arms around his waist.

"Yes, you will. Now you don't have to fear me because of your secret engagement." His voice was half-mocking, half-serious, and she looked up sharply.

"You said I shouldn't think about the past."

"No, don't." He drew back from her embrace. "And now, if you allow me." Instead of offering her his arm he took her hand and a small smile came to Christine's lips – her husband would most probably use every possibility to show how unusual their relationship was. The little girl inside her was cheerful as well, taking great pleasure in the scandalous truth: she was in love with her husband. As long as they only gossiped he was the Phantom but didn't know it for sure it didn't matter.

Erik led her to the bright ballroom that was already full of people, every of them wearing colorful, buoyant masks, and none of them wasted a second glance on them. His rigid hold softened slightly on her fingers.

The damp heat of the crowd felt good against her exposed skin since the frigid night air was still present on it, and Christine already felt the familiar excitement that was attached to the soft music played in the hall. In no time he would hold her in his arms – she could already feel his touch on her back – and would lead her to the dancefloor. She wondered how it would feel like – he said he could dance (of course), but it was really hard to picture him as a dashing partner. People were there, many of them, in fact, and they would be close and watching and… she wanted nothing more than to huddle up against him and forget about everyone else. And make _him_ forget about everyone else.

"Christine! I dared not to hope you'd come; I'm so happy you're… here."

Meg's voice trailed off uncertainly as her eyes travelled from Christine to her companion – Christine saw the process how her colorful cheeks turned white, even the lines of her friends' lips lost their color at the sight of her husband. Christine's heart dropped right in that moment – along with Meg's ornate fan that gave an almost undetectable thud on the floor. She stared at it in silent devastation.

To Meg's greatest amazement in the next moment the fan was lifted from the floor by a male hand, holding it out for her to take.

"Thank you," she stuttered but when she saw just who the hand belonged to she almost dropped the object again.

The Phantom was standing only a few feet in front of her.

She managed to swallow – with much effort, truth be told – and straightened her posture while _he_ took a step back and rested his hands on Christine's shoulders. When Christine reached up to pull her husband's arms around her waist Meg caught a glimpse of the matching gold bands on their fingers. _He can't be the same man._

Erik felt Christine leaning back against him before speaking again. "Uhm… I trust you already know my husband," she told to Meg, who was still staring at the two of them. Maybe that was why she had uttered so fondly the words _my husband_ with so much pride and affection, and the eyes of Christine's friend travelled once again at their entwined fingers. She blinked, then again, then let out a deep breath, still not saying a word. He felt Christine's brief gaze on his chin.

"Mademoiselle Giry."

Finally the girl was broke out of her trance.

"What a pleasure to meet you," she mumbled and bowed slightly, though it could have been just the buckle of her knees, he thought.

Meanwhile Christine was furiously thinking about what to say to Meg; her cheeks were no longer white but her fingers had began to tremble – no doubt she would leave with the first given possibility. Christine also felt how Erik's posture tensed the longer Meg was silent – she wished for a happy evening, not another reason why Erik would never accompany her again.

"Are you here for a long time?" She blurted out finally; painfully aware of how pitiful the question was. At least it worked.

Meg swallowed nervously before she answered. "I arrived only half an hour ago." She looked around hastily. "Mother has to be somewhere near as well," she said, glancing again at Christine's husband briefly, who stood unmoving behind her. _I love him, Meg._

When finally she convinced herself that he indeed wouldn't punish her for any unthinkable reasons Meg stepped closer to Christine, lightly touching her obviously new attire. "What an amazing dress you are wearing."

"I got it from Erik. He spoils me," she added, smiling a little at Meg who finally stopped glancing at her husband in every single moment.

"You deserve it," he corrected; his hold tightened on Christine's shoulder when Meg peered at him again.

"You can't complain, you got a new dress as well," Christine said stiffly, once again trying to catch Meg's attention.

"Yes, it's a little bit more decent than it was last year," Meg answered with a forced smile. It had been so long that Christine felt so awkward in the presence of her best friend; they didn't even have anything to talk about and the silence between them stretched longer and longer.

Music stopped and there was a short clasp of the hands from the dancing couples, then music started again and Christine's hand was gently lifted from her side. "Madame."

She turned to see Erik standing beside her in a strangely formal, ceremonious posture. "Erik, what are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to have a nice evening," came his answer. "Can I have this dance?" He added and she couldn't suppress a giggle.

"Thank you," she curtsied pulling back the thick layers of her skirts, then allowed herself to be led to the dancefloor with an apologetic smile to Meg.

As before, several couples were turning and swaying to the rhythm of that glorious music and Christine felt how the power of the simple fact that she was dancing rushed through her limbs; starting on her feet, travelling up on her legs, burning up on her spine and finally stopping when it reached her hand that was clasped into his. She's been waiting for so long for this and now her skin tingled with excitement that finally, finally they were there – for a moment she wasn't sure her feet touched the floor at all.

He told the truth, she concluded; he really made a great partner. His arm held hers securely while his other hand rested on her waist and his movements seemed as unfaltering that had she not known better she would have said he had attended many balls before.

"How do you know how to dance?" She asked astounded, following him easily as he made a half-turn with her.

"Considering how long I've watched you from behind I could have danced most of the ballets as well," he answered, but instead of finding his tone bitter as she'd expected, his voice was rather light and teasing – he must have been very solicitous about giving her the cheerful night she'd wished for.

"I'm so proud to be at your side. Many of the chorus girls envy me now for having a companion like you."

"Yes, especially you friend; I'm sure it was her jealousy that drained her cheeks from color when she saw me."

Christine sighed heavily. "I told her what a wonderful husband you are, she was not supposed to act like she did."

"I don't think she believed you."

"She will believe it. With time."

"I don't want you to praise me," he said and took a turn. Someone's eyes were following the two of them since they entered the dancefloor and now he made sure about who that person was: Christine's friend was staring at them still and it seemed to Erik that the girl shook her head in disbelief.

With the next turn Christine also spotted Meg's doubtful expression. Snuggling closer to her husband she sent a huge smile towards Meg, and after a moment she returned it shyly. "Maybe there would be no need for that," she said with a soft sigh.

"Is your friend still staring at me?" He asked casually but Christine felt the hidden tension behind his words.

"She's gone. Please don't be mad at her, Erik. She's been trying very hard not to gawk at you but she's still afraid a little."

"You mean terrified."

"No," she corrected grudgingly. "It's just unusual for her to see you here. But she definitely wouldn't betray you."

"At least her terror has some advantage," he murmured. She leaned her head on his chest briefly and tightened her grasp around his back. "I love you, too," he said after a moment. When she lifted her face again a warm smile was already on it.

As time passed it was more and more exciting to have her in his arms. People passed beside them in every moment but many of them were more interested in Christine's dress than to glare at him, but those occasional stares were still unnerving him. They couldn't know anything for sure and they certainly couldn't _see_ anything, yet they still were searching for the signs.

But it was worth it. He was dancing with his _wife_ – and a mere year ago he couldn't presume to regain her at all. He couldn't hope anything than to force her into marriage – and in the end she came willingly. She had given him so much more than he imagined and she dared to claim he deserved it. He knew he didn't.

From time to time Christine felt the small squeezes her husband had given him and she tried reassure him with returning the gesture. Her eyes lifted from the fancy embroidery of his jacket to his eyes, enjoying how she didn't have to deal with others as they danced among the pairs and enjoyed the privacy of their shared reality.

As they passed beside a couple, though, Christine caught a glimpse of a woman's wide-eyed stare – Christine's eyes immediately sought out her husband's but it didn't seem that the woman could have identified him, but then what was that look meant?

A minute later they passed another pair and again, she noticed a strange, disdainful look. They hadn't done anything. Perhaps Erik was holding her closer than it was usual and his thumb was drawing slow circles in her palm; or it was because her head had been resting on his shoulder for a while… _How scandalous to be openly in love with one's husband._

When he leaned closer Christine's ears picked up the sound of soft whispers around them and it was almost as offending as it was annoying. What was so scandalous about them if he hadn't even kissed her yet?

Her grip tightened on his back as air hitched in her lungs. _Until now._ His lips landed right below her ear, breathing a torturous kiss to her awaiting skin.

Then another.

His arms pulled her closer until her upper body was pressed firmly against his chest and her legs were so close to his that she couldn't make a proper step without treading on his feet. She took refuge in swaying to the rhythm of the music rather than dancing now that her leg was trapped between his; at least it couldn't be seen from her skirts yet. But the hold of his fingers on her waist was anything but part of the dance and _that _was not covered by her dress at all.

"You're holding me too close," she said in a choked whisper. In all honesty, it was strangely thrilling to let it stop.

"One can never hold his wife close enough," he answered, turning them to keep up the façade that they were dancing.

There was a breathed kiss to her temple, followed shortly by a light nuzzling against her hair – her hands grazed an almost involuntary path on his back – then she felt his furtive, wet kiss to her neck again. Christine nearly jumped in his hold from restrained excitement.

"Everyone is watching us," she whimpered feebly, not daring to open her eyes and face the truth.

"Let them see you're mine," he murmured against her face and resumed the soft wobble to the music.

"No one had any doubt of it. You haven't let go of my hand since we stepped into the opera house."

"Are you complaining?"

"Of course not." With a final kiss he drew back though not yet loosened his hold on her and probably it was the most unnerving thing he could have done. She knew he knew that, too; his eyes shone brightly behind the mask.

"You're doing this purposefully, aren't you?" Christine asked in a low whisper, glancing around: they really caught many others' attention.

"Of course I do; I won't hide how much I love you as they do," he said, sweeping his fingers across her forehead and letting them slid behind her nape. Unthinkingly she licked her lips but then bit down on her lower lip when she realized what it suggested.

"I can't bear this any longer," she whispered and looked around whether anyone had heard her. They would figure it out anyway, though. "I'll follow you to my dressing room in two minutes," she promised and he stepped back, bowing his head.

"Hurry," he ordered and promptly left.

With pretended nonchalance Christine looked around, trying to detect how many of the guest would see her disappearance. The glaring woman lost her interest as soon as Christine lowered herself to one of the side tables and she took a deep breath. It was very warm in the hall, indeed.

- o -

"Where have you been?" Asked Meg from the entering Christine.

"I've been…" Christine looked back over her shoulder, running her eyes through the guests quickly. No one was watching. "… engaged," she finished with relief.

A shy grin tugged at Meg's lips, then her eyes fell on the small plate in her hands. "I see."

"How?" Christine's hand flew up to examine her hair. "I checked everything before I came back."

"Your eyes. They're practically sparkling," the other girl smiled and filled herself a glass of punch. "I didn't believe that you love him that much."

"Do you now?"

"After what I've seen, yes."

"Oh, was it so apparent?" Christine asked, tuning slightly red from the thought. She didn't wish to return to first rehearsals to the gossips about her and her husband.

"Not worse than any other ballet girl's flirting." Meg took a sip from her glass, still smiling dreamily. "Monsieur Andre has been looking for you for quite a long time," she continued after a short pause.

"Do you happen to know what he wanted?" Christine asked and helped herself from the coconut-filled pastries.

"He wanted to have a dance with you."

"Erik would never allow me to dance with anyone else," Christine murmured under her breath, taking a bite from the cake. Truth be told, she wasn't so eager, either, to let some stranger to run his hands along her body, even if it was one of her managers.

"Well, I told him you came with your husband but he was unrelenting. I had to offer him a dance to get rid of him but he would certainly insist upon that dance if he sees you alone."

_Alone. _Erik said he'd come after her in a minute. He wasn't there yet.

"Usually he's not so stubborn," Christine continued, her eyes searching the crowd for her husband; when she couldn't see him in the entrance she began to scan the guests all around the hall. Her eyes reached the center where the orchestra was seated – someone was talking to one of the cellist. Then the cellist stood from his seat – not without any complain, seemingly, and…

"He had a little more punch than it was necessary." Meg's voice broke Christine out of her silent observation and she turned to Meg with a fitting smile.

"I've never seen him like that." Taking another bite from her food Christine turned back to the orchestra, only to witness how that man took the cellist's instrument and then sat on his seat – it was Erik! She almost choked on the food in her mouth.

"He's very nice," Meg continued and Christine nodded dutifully, tearing her sight away from her husband, who was now playing as part of the orchestra.

"To girls?" She barely managed to form an acceptable question.

"No. To everyone else. But it suits him quite well," Meg giggled and Christine placed the empty plate to the nearby table. It must have been some truly, unforgivable mistake that cellist had committed if Erik chose to go even near him, let alone talk to that man.

"Oh, Madame Daae, what a pleasure to meet you in public!"

Turning around Christine saw the approaching M. Andre and feverishly looked back at Erik – he still hadn't moved from the orchestra.

"What a delightful evening, Monsieur Andre, it's an honor to be invited." Her voice sounded sincere enough and Christine curtsied, satisfied in the fact that she indeed did what was expected of her.

"I was informed that you've arrived with your husband. I wondered if I could meet him," M. Andre continued as he came to a halt in front of her. After Meg's portrayal of him, Christine expected him to be swaying slightly or struggling with his words but his cordial manners was as impeccable as any other time, if not a little _too_ cordial.

At their manager's words Meg opened her fan and hid behind it, obviously unable to stifle her smile. Christine doubted that after such a prelude she could reject his offer, and peeking over Meg's fan she could already see that shifting off the 'honor' to Meg was no option, either: she had already danced with him.

"I'm sure he would be back in any minute." _And if I danced with you, that time would be reduced to mere moments._

"Until then, would you grant me the pleasure of having this dance with you?" M. Andre gave a deep, theatrical bow and Christine heard Meg's muffled giggles from behind her makeshift shelter.

She managed to stifle a helpless growl.

"Thank you," Christine curtsied and placed her hand in her new partner's awaiting palm, who immediately led her to the other dancers.

Truth be told, he was a decent dancer and was leading her effortlessly; no doubt he had had many opportunities to improve his skills. Besides, it was well-known among the cast that M. Andre was quite well-trained on the violin so he didn't have any problem with the rhythm, either – considering all of these he should have been one of the most wanted dance partners in the guests. And maybe he really was – Christine was so very absorbed in being with her husband that she couldn't tell anything else for sure.

Her current companion was seemingly overjoyed to be in her presence, though she didn't talk much – he spoke for both of them, and sadly all of those matters were irrelevant. But at least it didn't take her much effort to look interested while in fact she threw a furtive glance at the orchestra – Erik was not there any more.

Monsieur Andre continued his amusing tale about how he managed to hire that famous violinist years ago as they passed beside Meg, who was now dancing with the brother of one of the ballet girls and Christine ventured another glance towards the orchestra: no, there were no changes in the last thirty seconds.

They took a turn then the music came to its end, then it promptly started again. Monsieur Andre's arm had already lifted to hold her waist and have this dance as well when a tall someone appeared in the edge of her vision. Of course it was _him_.

Still holding her hand M. Andre gave a curt nod the stranger. "Madame Daae's husband, am I right?"

"Correct," Erik growled, staring at their clasped hands. Behind M. Andre Christine shoot a meaningful look towards Erik.

They were standing in the middle of dozens of dancing couples and Christine's ears began to burn when nothing happened.

"Ah… I'll leave you to your husband, then," said M. Andre, bowing politely towards Christine. "Thank you, Madame."

Christine's knees were still bent when her hand was suddenly enveloped in a fierce grip, and she straightened her posture only to witness how her manager patted the shoulder of her husband. "You're a very lucky man, she's a wonderful girl."

When Erik's hand lifted she didn't hesitate to take it before it could come in contact with her manager and sent a charming smile towards the man, who discreetly left when they started to dance again.

Not a word was exchanged between the two of them; Erik was heaving and was barely keeping up the façade of swaying to the music while Christine followed with her eyes only as M. Andre disappeared among a bunch of chirpy ballet girls.

"_He _is a lucky man," Erik said after a minute.

"It seems so," she agreed. "Where have you been?"

"The new cellist had a few problems with his techniques. What have you done? You said you won't be dancing with anyone else."

"I had no excuses! I've been alone and he had been waiting for me for a long time…"

The silence was longer and longer between them and she was waiting in vain for him to speak again. Her sight slowly drifted to his eyes, still waiting.

"He touched you," he said bluntly and the grip on her hand became firmer.

"He's been wearing gloves," she said, and when her eyes fell briefly on their clasped hands his grip loosened immediately. "He really did nothing, nothing at all."

"Except watching. That alone is bad enough."

"It was _one_ dance. It doesn't mean anything. What we've done, though…"

"I hope you won't be the subject of their gossips," he said at last and Christine felt how some of the tension left his muscles under her fingers.

"Surely not. There happens so much more in a ball than a disappearing couple. I'm sure there must be somewhere an obscenely drunk baron or something."

The corner of his lips turned a little upwards and the earlier affair was soon forgotten as they resumed dancing. Couples changed around them, leaving for short breaks or to drink something but they were still on the dancefloor, twirling and swaying; and the night passed faster than it was to her liking. And to _his_ liking, too.

"Thank you for coming back," he said softly.

"When?"

"In February. I wouldn't have made it without you."

Christine's throat tightened: she had no doubt what he wouldn't have made then. She swallowed uneasily. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"It's almost midnight." His fingers lightly traced her lips. "I want you to know it."

Her fingers crept up to his cheek, resting against the mask as they continued to dance.

"You're not taking it off, are you?" He asked though he didn't make any movement to stop her, nor did his eyes left hers.

"Only at home," she said, stopping in her movements. Next to them people began to take off their mask, expressing their best wishes to their companions. The hall filled with the gleeful sound of laughter and talking, and somewhere in the background music started again. "Happy new year, my love."

"It would definitely be one," he answered, taking her lips in a grateful kiss as she folded her arms around his neck.

When he heard her soft sign of approval a small part of him believed that he deserved this.

And it felt marvelous.


End file.
